


what's good is good and what's bad is better

by sadie18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Crimes & Criminals, Detectives, Drug Dealing, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Violence, Moral Ambiguity, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Linear Narrative, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-06 16:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20294539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadie18/pseuds/sadie18
Summary: two officers walk into a club.three criminals walk out.-alternatively, percy and oliver think they understand obsession and attraction. emphasis on think.





	what's good is good and what's bad is better

**Author's Note:**

> chat w me on tumblr @oliivverwood xoxoxoxoxox

Percy frowned disgustedly, feeling a drop of sweat trickle slowly down the nape of his neck. His red curls were plastered to his forehead, the the sticky body heat of a hundred people affecting him, too. His fingers found his second top button, nimbly undoing it, frowning deeper as he realised it didn't do much to shake the warmth. 

Oliver's shoulder was pressed up against his, where they surveyed the packed club. He'd ditched his smart jacket, his pressed white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. They looked out of place, in the midst of drunk flirts and gyrating bodies, strobe lights and pulsing music, but not strange enough that they'd be noticed. 

* * *

_"Your new partner." McGonagall gestured at Oliver, who smiled, albeit a bit awkwardly. "He'll be an adept replacement for Diggory."_

_This was Percy's fourth partner. _

_Percy surveyed him, eyes raking him over from the top of his unkempt brown hair to the buckles of his scuffed, leather shoes. His eyes were warm brown, his skin smattered with freckles from days of sun in his past. _

_He was far from Cedric. Clean, kind, soft Cedric. _

_Oliver's eyes were somewhat hard, the corners of his mouth minutely strained._

_He would be an issue. After three times, one learned not to get attached to someone who was going to leave._

_"Pleasure to meet you." Percy said tightly. _

* * *

Marcus Flint was a walking target.

But somehow, he was untouchable. 

It _infuriated _Percy. He'd spent too many nights connecting red strings, drawing X's on photos and bickering with Oliver all the way through.

The day McGonagall slapped the file on their desk with nothing but a pointed look was the day Percy learned the true meaning of obsession. 

* * *

The club seemed to fit more people than what was physically possible, a new personality at every turn. Next to Percy, Oliver shuddered at the feel of someone's latex dress brushing against his hand. 

Marcus Flint was somewhere in this sleazy club that reeked of vodka and sweat, probably sipping something _ostentatious _like an _aperol spritz__. _Or maybe a Long Island Iced Tea. _Whatever._

Percy had pored over his headshot for days. Weeks. Maybe months. 

Marcus Flint was not an _aperol spritz _man. 

In the back of his mind, through the haze of heat and fuzzy feeling entering his head, "_Moscow Mule_" was what came to mind when Percy thought of Marcus Flint. 

A sharp nudge to his ribs brought him back to, and Oliver looked at him concernedly. 

"Anything wrong?" He asked, managing to be quiet over the bass of the music. Percy shook his head, shooting him a small smile. 

* * *

_Percy and Oliver had an argument. _

_A loud one. _

_Normally, this wouldn't be as big of an issue, but they were on a stakeout. A discreet one. Discreet stakeouts tend to require being discreet, and thus, the loud arguing became an issue. _

_Percy, in all the stereotypical rage of a ginger, particularly, a_ Weasley,_ made to storm out. _

_A bullet flew past his head and cracked into the wall, inches away from his head. His head bucked back, his glasses falling to the floor, and suddenly, he was blinded. A shadowy figure stood on top of the building across the road. Percy could almost hear the click of the hitman putting another clip into the gun._

_Oliver grabbed him roughly, wrenching him back inside and shooting at the figure. Percy scrambled for his gun holster, trying to breathe through the panic of his blurry vision. _

_The stood inside, shoulder to shoulder, next to the door, protected by the thick walls of the building. Oliver was breathing heavily, his chest heaving up and down, and Percy felt a flash of guilt, for ruining the stakeout, not being able to control his temper yet _again. 

_He hated how scared he was that Oliver was going to give up, being his partner. One had left._

_Two had died._

_Oliver had been the best partner Percy had ever had._

_"Why can't you just _try _to get along with me?" Oliver hissed, poking his head around the open doorway. "I don't understand! You're just- you're _pissed _all the time!" _

_Percy sagged against the wall, the weight of his culpability finally hitting him full strength. _

_"I don't know." He snapped, frustrated. "They all- they all end up gone, anyways."_

_A beat of silence. Percy berated himself, for letting something so _vulnerable _slip._

_He saw the fuzzy outline of Oliver bending over, picking something up. He came closer._

_Oliver slipped his glasses on for him, wincing at the crack in the corner of the left lense. _

_"I'm not going anywhere soon." Oliver muttered._

* * *

"Have you seen anything?" Oliver murmured into his ear, placing a hand on the small of his back. It was innocent. Should have been innocent. 

Percy hoped that it was dark enough that Oliver wouldn't see the crimson creeping up his chest and neck.

"No." Percy said back. 

To be truthful, Percy didn't feel scared, or nervous, at all of tracking down Marcus Flint. 

Marcus Flint had a kill count of hundreds people. He had imported drugs from all over the world. Almost all the authority figures in the city were on his payroll.

He was the kingpin. 

But to Percy, it wasn't quite sinking in. 

He and Oliver had studied this man for months. 

Marcus Flint, with his Chinese and Welsh heritage, his abilities as a polyglot, his young age. Marcus Flint, with his shorn black hair and cold eyes, one brown, one green, and the scar that cut through the right side of his lip. 

Percy wasn't sure he could attribute his racing heart on fear.

* * *

_"Good looking, isn't he?" Oliver commented, breaking the silence that had befallen the room, empty besides the two of them. It was 4 AM. The wall was a mess of photos, newspaper clippings, almost illegible notes. Nobody else in the precinct even bothered going into their shared office, to see how the investigation was going. Nobody else could read their handwriting or understand their comments except for each other._

_ The photo of Marcus Flint that had been stuck carefully in the middle was large. Eye-catching. _

_Percy frowned._

_"Stop chatting shit. Have another coffee." Percy dismissed Oliver's statement as a result of the second all-nighter they were pulling._

_"No, no." Oliver's eyes were glued to the paper. "His teeth are fucked up, and I kind of hate his haircut, but there's something- I don't know. Interesting about him. Bet that scar on his mouth has an interesting story, eh?"_

_Percy tried to shake the slight jealousy, he felt, hearing Oliver affirm the good looks of another man, which was, like, fucked up in _all sorts _of ways, considering Percy found Marcus Flint attractive too. Very much so. _

_Percy sighed deeply, turning to the coffee machine in the corner of their shared space for another pot._

* * *

"He'd probably be in the VIP section." Percy tugged on the loose shirttail of Oliver's button-down. "Or another closed off area of the club. I haven't even seen any of his goons."

Oliver nodded in agreement. "Split up, or stick together?"

Percy shot him a glare. Oliver flashed a smile, the charming one that McGonagall would quirk her lips at. 

"Together it is." 

They crept around the corners of the room, avoiding the bumping bodies. Percy grimaced at two people making out in the corner, slurping and sucking and looking positively _wasted. _

There was something about the grimy dark corners and such a public display of attraction and lack of control that made Percy deeply discomforted. It was a strange feeling, being at a club, an area he chose not to deign often, for a business other than leisure. 

He supposed his pleasure was in his work, and his work intermixed with pleasure. 

At this revelation, Percy unconsciously glance at Oliver. Unconsciously licked his lips at the thought of meeting Marcus Flint. 

He had to be going crazy. Possibly delirious from the sensory overload of too much noise, too many colours, so much movement. 

He could _die _tonight. 

The two of them turned a corner, then another, then another, and found themselves in an almost empty hallway, lit sultrily, atmosphere calm, warm, a poignant juxtaposition to the the dance floor. The music was now only a faint pulse, a dull bass rattling the walls.

* * *

_"Wonder what he's like in person." Oliver muttered, polishing his gun. _

_Percy's eyes dropped to the weapon, watching Oliver slide the cloth up to the barrel, then back down. Up. Down. Up. Down. _

_It wasn't faring well for his nerves. _

_"I mean-" Percy tried for a light tone, his voice instead coming out dreadfully cracked and a pitch too high to be considered casual. "-he's got a hit count of over a hundred and is running the biggest drug ring in Europe right now." _

_"Yeah but-" Oliver had an ink smudge on his cheek. "He's still a _person. _Like. What does he do when he's not, you know, killing people and making deals. Does he have any unknown siblings? Is he, I dunno, single?" _

_Percy's neck almost snapped with the speed he used to look at Oliver, who was almost the picture of calamity. _

_Almost. _

_His chest was rising and falling a little too quickly, his freckles not quite covering the blush that dusted his cheeks and neck. He was poking his tongue out, a nervous habit. _

_Percy recounted everything he knew about Marcus Caradoc Flint. _

_Born in Wales, he was raised by a father who owned a butcher shop and a mother who owned a laundromat, both fronts for a small drug business they owned. The parents died, leaving the business to Marcus when he was nineteen. He was a polyglot, having been around, and was known to be able to speak English, Chinese, French, Italian, Russian and Spanish. He had no known siblings. Before he'd been ushered into a life of secrecy and discretion, he'd apparently been known to like partaking in sports, having been a very accomplished athlete in his high school years. _

_"He's probably single." Percy answered, finally. _

* * *

They pulled their guns out of their holsters, circling each other so they were covered at all times, as they moved through the hallway and up the stairs to a balcony that would oversee the rest of the dance floor. 

Percy ran through their plan in his head, so practiced and thought out that he could probably do it in his sleep. Somehow, he still felt at unease, as if something was going to change, or something would affect the plan. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, knowing something could go wrong. 

Yet, he still wasn't scared.

The walked up the stairs slowly, the pounding music coming back to full volume as they got closer. 

There was a private area, on the balcony, with a one-way glass window so dancers couldn't see inside. It was a spacious room, taking up most of the balcony. There were two bouncers outside the room, larger than life and very good at their job. As they approached it, the two detectives slipping their guns back into their hidden holsters, Percy could read their name tags. 

_Crabbe. Goyle. _

He kept note of them. 

"Graham Montague and Cassius Warrington." Oliver's voice was a deep rumble, gesturing towards himself, then Percy. 

Crabbe snatched up the list from Goyle, narrowing his eyes at the two of them, then scanning the list. 

What Crabbe and Goyle weren't aware of was that Montague and Warrington had been put in the slammer the day before. But what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

"In." Goyle snapped, after Crabbe nodded. They pushed the door open and suddenly, it felt like Percy had been thrust into a different world. 

The music playing in here was quieter, less aggressive. The pulse of the music outside still rattled the room. There were exotic dancers in here, putting on a show for groups in the corners.

Percy immediately recognised some faces, attaching them to big names. Draco Malfoy. Adrian Pucey. Terence Higgs. They were by the window, looking down at the dance floor, talking in hushed tones and smoking cigars. 

In the middle of the room sat a lone man on a loveseat. He too was smoking, flipping through a newspaper, looking somewhat bored. On the table in front of him was a single drink. 

A Moscow Mule. 

Percy felt irritated at the man, for being so predictable. He had no _right _to be so predictable. 

He was Marcus Flint.

That was explanation enough. 

The man looked up from his newspaper, exhaling a thick trail of smoke into the air. He looked at them. 

Marcus Flint looked just like the photograph, the scar paler in the dim blue lighting of the room, his different coloured eyes boring into Percy's blue. His eyes flicked to Oliver, next to him, and he rolled his neck, up and down, to look him over. 

Percy felt exposed. Naked. 

They walked towards Marcus, sitting in the loveseat across from him. 

"You aren't Cassie or Graham." Marcus had looked back down to his newspaper. It was an old newspaper, ripped at the corners and crumpled. On the corner, Percy saw a red stain that covered half a small headline. 

His voice was gruff, deeper than Percy had expected, throaty from years of cigarettes and possibly a period of drug use. His knuckles, idly in the process of holding the newspaper, were scarred. Some cuts looked fresh. 

They didn't think Marcus Flint was the type to do the dirty deeds himself.

"We aren't." Oliver murmured. His hand was on his waist, where his gun was held. Hidden.

"Come to arrest me, Officer Wood?" He all but purred. Percy froze. Not out of being caught, not from how Marcus knew him _by name_, but how his voice rumbled as he referred to Oliver as _Officer. _

Percy felt as if he was in a haze, watching this happen. This was a dangerous situation, much too dangerous for him to be delirious. 

"Come on then." Marcus held his hands out, dropping his newspaper, as if waiting for handcuffs. Next to Percy, he saw Oliver clutching the armrests, his mouth slightly parted. His hair was damp, moist from the precipitation in the air of the club, his cheeks flushed from heat. 

It was a sight. 

"No?" As Oliver didn't move. "How about you, Officer Weasley? Bet you've got a handy pair of handcuffs." 

Percy exhaled deeply, wondering how it got to this. How he and Oliver had let this man get to him without even _knowing _him. He felt blindsided, by his attraction to both his partner and his target. It felt paradoxical- there was absolutely no possible way he could win this. 

A gun cocked next to him, the sound taking him by surprise. Oliver was pointing his pistol at Marcus, his chest heaving. 

A second gun cocked. Percy had raised his own. 

A third and fourth. Marcus Flint, of course, the sneaky bastard, was pointing a gun at each of them. 

A fifth and sixth. Percy felt the barrel of Terence Higgs' gun against his forehead, the cool metal providing some relief from the heat. Adrian Pucey had his gun against the throat of Oliver. 

Marcus chuckled lowly. 

"Boys, _boys. _Relax." He murmured. "You two don't want to kill me. Hell, you don't even want to arrest me." 

Percy wanted to feel a visceral reaction to that. He wanted to feel the inexplicable urge to shoot Marcus Flint through the heart knowing he'd get shot next. 

But he couldn't. 

In the corner of his eye, Percy saw Oliver faltering, his breath hitching. Marcus's eyes gleamed. Predatorily. Feral.

* * *

_The day McGonagall slapped the file on their desk with nothing but a pointed look was the day Percy (and Oliver) learned the true meaning of obsession._

It just wasn't the type they were supposed to feel.

* * *

_The Daily Prophet_

_Six months ago, detectives Oliver Wood and Percy Weasley disappeared during their investigation into the secretive kingpin of the largest drug ring in Europe, where he is said to be stationed in our city. Officers and police are still looking into their disappearance 24/7, but there has yet to be any idea of where they could be. They were last spotted in a nightclub, just minutes before they weren't seen again. We have reached out to Captain McGonagall for a third time, and have yet to receive a response or a statement. Stay tuned for an update._

* * *

"You're good." Percy murmured, his glasses low on his nose as he read the paper. Marcus' chest vibrated as he chuckled, wrapping his arms around Percy tighter. "Nobody has any clue."

"I've been doing this a while." He said. "You would know." 

They were in Marcus's mansion, in the south of France, Percy sat atop of Marcus as the sunlight flooded into the house. 

When Percy and Oliver had walked away from the club half a year ago, they'd done so almost voluntarily. Together. It felt too easy. 

Now, Percy helped Marcus calculate costs. Fixed salaries. Made deals. Oliver made big decisions. Went to meetings with smaller drug lords.

They would all get back to the house and crash together. Percy would always revel in how _easy _it was to tangle his fingers with Oliver's, or press his lips to Marcus'.

"Yeah, I would." Percy grumbled, shoving his glasses up his nose, and huffing as they lay crooked. 

Oliver came into the living room then, his towel low on his hips. He grinned as Percy flushed, like he always did, and cheerfully poured himself a coffee. 

"Got a meeting with Malfoy later." He hummed. "He's lowering his prices."

"Finally." Percy muttered. 

The scene wasn't something Percy had imagined would ever happen to him. Because once, he'd thought he was one of the good guys. Crime-fighters. Putting villains in handcuffs and all the like. So had Oliver. 

Marcus had given them an offer.

* * *

People _always _told him that being bad felt so good. 

Finally, Percy would understand. 


End file.
